Page 32 of Hot for the Hockey Player (The Single Moms of San Camanez: The Vino Vixens #2)

“Come in,” I said immediately, ushering him inside. He only wore a black hoodie and baggy black jeans, but at least he had the hood part over his head.

He shifted back and forth on his feet, not quite able to look me in the eye.

“Damon,” I started, going into the kitchen to put on the kettle. He had to be cold. “What are you doing here?”

“You’re mad at me because of my friends, aren’t you?

You said you weren’t, but you are. That’s why you’re not coming around anymore.

” His voice cracked and when I glanced at him after bringing two mugs down from the cupboard, I could tell he was trying his hardest not to cry. “They’re not my friends, Mav. I swear.”

I shook my head. “It’s not them, bud. I promise.”

“Then what is it?” he pleaded.

“Does your mom know you’re here?”

He shook his head and droplets fell from his backpack and the tips of his hair onto the floor.

I grabbed my phone and shot off a text to Gabrielle—having grabbed her number on Friday before taking Laurel and Honor to watercolor—to let her know Damon was here. It was the responsible thing to do. I also said I’d bring him home shortly, and that he was okay, just upset.

“That’s not cool, man,” I said gently. “Your mom is expecting you at home.”

“She doesn’t care.”

“Oh, yes she does. Your mom loves you more than anything in this world.”

He rolled his gray-blue eyes, which reminded me of the sky in an oncoming storm.

“She just says that these years don’t matter.

That none of what the kids at school say matter in the big picture.

That I just need to graduate, and I’ll be fine.

” He lifted his gaze to me. “That’s four years away, Mav. I can’t do four more years.”

There was something more to his hopelessness than what I witnessed on Friday. “What else are the kids saying?”

The kettle roared to life, boiling water for some tea. My mother always made me tea when I’d come in after practicing outside for hours. Peppermint tea with a little bit of honey was a nostalgic bit of comfort I brought with me no matter where I went.

“Did Mom ever tell you why we left Idaho?”

I softly shook my head. “No. I assumed it was because she and your father separated, and she wanted a new life for you kids.”

“We were in a fucking cult.” It was the first time I’d ever heard him swear, and it caught me off guard.

Like most kids, I’m sure he did it at school and around his peers, but I knew for a fact that Gabrielle wouldn’t tolerate that language at home.

He was worked up though, so I let it slide.

“My dad was a pedophile who molested his nieces. Danica’s husband did too.

My dad’s brother, Wilson, had three daughters.

He, my dad, and Danica’s husband, Rufus, all molested the girls. They were six, four, and two.”

Holy shit.

Whatever information about Gabrielle’s past I was expecting, it wasn’t that. Not by a long shot.

“My mom turned them in. Then she divorced my dad, changed our last name, and we moved to Washington.”

“Your mom is incredibly strong and brave.”

“They were all in the cult. Raina, Danica, Naomi, my mom. Raina’s dead husband’s brother came looking for Marco earlier this year.

Said he needed an heir since his son died.

Then he kidnapped Marco. And while Marco’s name was removed from the news articles, Raina’s wasn’t. And you know journalists—”

“They can be ruthless and relentless,” I finished.

He nodded. “They started digging and found out that our whole family was part of the cult.”

The kettle beeped, and I walked back into the kitchen to pour the water over the tea bags. Damon unglued his feet from the welcome mat, removed his shoes, and followed me.

Ah. Now it was all starting to make sense. “And your classmates got wind of things and started teasing you that your family was in a cult.”

He nodded again. “Thank god Mom changed our last name. But I was able to do some digging on my own, and that’s how I found out Dad’s in prison and what for.

When I told Mom about it, she said a little bit more, that the girls were my cousins and how old they were.

Then she said we shouldn’t talk about it anymore. ”

“But the kids at school are harassing you?”

He lifted one shoulder.

I squeezed a little bit of honey into each mug, then passed him one. “What are they saying, Damon?”

“They don’t know about my dad. But they’re asking when my family is going to kill ourselves because all cults have suicide pacts. Stupid shit like that.”

“Have you gone to the principal? She seemed like someone who wouldn’t tolerate this kind of behavior.”

“And risk being labeled a snitch?” Horror filled his gaze. “I’m already an outcast.”

“Have you talked to your mom about homeschooling? If school is really that big of a problem for you, if it’s impacting your mental health, maybe it’s something to consider.”

He gingerly sipped his tea and shook his head. “I don’t know if she’d go for it.”

“Worst case scenario, she says no. But if you don’t ask, you don’t know.

Right?” I sipped my tea as well and while it was still really hot, that little bit of sweet peppermint flavor transported me right back to my parents’ home, and the kitchen nook where my mother would sit and run her fingers softly through my sweaty hair as I sipped tea and warmed up.

He didn’t seem convinced.

“We can finish our tea, but I am going to have to take you home, you know. You can’t stay here. Your mom will start to worry.”

Another dramatic teenage eye roll.

You could not pay me to return to my teenage years. The emotions, the hormones, the limited scope of perspective. Our worlds are so small at that age, our knowledge and experience so limited that it’s no wonder something that I viewed as trivial to Damon—now—feels like the end of his life to him.

We stood there in silence in my little cabin kitchen and finished our tea.

“Come on, man,” I said taking his empty mug, and mine, and placing them in the sink. “Let’s get you home.”

His sigh was heavy enough to probably rattle his bones as he slid back into his shoes and opened the door.

We climbed into my truck and I could tell he already felt lighter just getting all of that off his chest. Hopefully, he could say all of this to his mom too, and she would know what to do to help him.

While I could certainly offer my perspective as a man, and what it was like growing up in a small town where you couldn’t pick your friends, she was his mother and her word was law.

In no time, the vineyard came into view, and I turned the corner down the road with grapevines on either side.

While it would probably make things much less awkward to just stay in my truck and have Damon jump out and go in on his own, I needed to put the impending awkwardness aside and support this kid who was struggling.

So I followed him up the porch steps and into the house where just a few hours ago, I very nearly kissed his mother.

I already knew that seeing her again would be hard, but when she came around the corner, her cheeks flushed with worry, relief, and appreciation in her eyes, I didn’t realize just how hard.